On the Rise and Developing Rapidly
by ShrapnelGirl
Summary: A multi-chapter friendship fic, where Ivan is given the hardest task of his life: befriending someone! When Ivan's boss tells him he's going to be spending a week at Emil's place, Ivan has no idea just what kind of utter craziness he is being forced into. Who knew Emil was such a nutter? And who knew the two Arctic nations had so much in common?
1. Prologue

_**Story:**__ On the Rise and Developing Rapidly_

_**Author:**__ ShrapnelGirl_

_**Exclaimer:**__ All characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya._

_**Author's comments:**__ Here's a new story guys! I just couldn't help myself. After talking to OnWithTheButter (check out her stories, they are amazing!) about how Icy and Rus just aren't getting enough love, I decided to delve into a little research on Icelando-Russian relations. This story is the result of what I found._

_Since this story will have a lot of research behind it, don't go expecting me to update it as fast as _Spellbound_. I'll update when inspiration strikes, or when I get really excited after coming across an article or something about Russo-Icelandic relations... If you guys want to speed me up, just send me some interesting information or stories, or write me awesome comments to boost my confidence and interest in this story... Seriously guys, you have no idea how easy I am to manipulate with just a little compliment... Hehe ^^'_

_I'll try to make this story as historically correct as I can, but I'm not perfect. In the case that something is not clear enough in the story itself, Russia and Iceland will explain it to you at the bottom of each chapter! I'll also be linking you guys to articles and interesting sites pertaining Iceland and Russia and their cultures/relations._

_Sorry for the long A/N... Now, enjoy the prologue!_

_**Update 11.03.2013:** Because school has finally caught up with me, from now on I'll only be replying to reviews and PMs and not to story favorites etc. Also, I think I have managed to fix the first link in the comments below, if not, please let me know!_

_**Update 27.03.2013:** Cover for this story was done by the amazing **SparkKnight2**! (/u/4572012/SparkKnight2)_

* * *

_Prologue – Arctic Ocean, April 2002 / Moscow, June 2013_

A blizzard raged across the Arctic Ocean, aggravating the already roaring waves with sharp lashes of icy wind. It was the beginning of summer, but General Winter has never been known to keep to a schedule. The storm came unexpectedly, trapping a small boat in its midst: A boat with only one passenger on it.

Ivan Braginsky had long since stopped trying to steer his boat out of the storm. Instead he opted to wait for the weather to calm down, turning the engines in his boat off and allowing it to be controled by the waves. He hoped that he would not be carried too far off-course. His boss had allowed him only a few days vacation and would be angry if Ivan did not return at the promised time. Storm or not, disobedience would not be tolerated, not even by the personification of Russia himself. But Ivan knew storms, and knew them well. He knew that this one would last a couple of hours at most.

And so he waited.

After securely positioning himself on his bed so as not to fall out due to the violent thrashings of the boat, Ivan reached for a newspaper he had brought with him when he set out on his vacation. It was two days old, and Ivan had read it already, but he wasn't really in the mood to read any of the books he had brought with him, and knitting under those circumstances could prove exceptionally dangerous. Ivan didn't particularly fancy getting stabbed by a knitting needle. He skimmed once again the familiar headlines of the paper, re-reading an occational article, until he started to get sleepy.

Before long, Ivan's head lolled back on the pillow and loud snoring filled the insides of the small boat as it rocked the sleeping man comfortably. The storm had calmed enough for the thrashings of the boat to be reduced to a lulling rock-about. Ivan's hands lost their grip on the newspaper that slid off of him and onto the floor.

A single ray of sunlight managed to push through the overcast sky and into Ivan's boat. Slightly dimmed after passing through a dirty window, the sunray landed on the newspaper, illuminating a single article:

_Moscow, 18 April: President of Iceland Olafur Grimsson arrived in Moscow on Thursday on the first state visit in the history of the two countries' relations. At the airport, Grimsson was greeted by head of the Russian Fisheries Committee Yevgeniy Nazdratenko. The Russian Foreign Ministry told Interfax that relations between Moscow and Reykjavik "are on the rise and are developing rapidly"..._

That article had not caught Ivan's attention in any particular way, neither the first nor the second time he read his paper. It would also not catch his attention at any later point in his life. The contents of the article however would prove to be almost foretelling in nature...

* * *

A few years later, in Ivan's home in Moscow, Ivan stared at his boss in confusion.

"You can't be serious," he said, tilting his head slightly and with his brows furrowed in concentration. "I am to befriend Iceland? And stay with him for a week? But why?" At the last words, Ivan instinctively swung his pipe around, causing a look of discomfort to cross his boss' face.

Vladimir Putin raised his hand – a signal for Ivan to calm down.

"If you had been paying more attention at our meetings," the president said, "you would have known this was coming. Increased co-operation with Iceland in many areas will prove useful to us, not only in matters of Arctic shipping routes, but also when it comes to fishing, energy matters and cultural matters. The Icelanders are especially advanced when it comes to geothermal energy – they are willing to help us develop a geothermal energy project for the Kamchatka region. Developing a strong bond with them is crucial for us."

"But why now?" Ivan asked. He had lowered his pipe, but still looked at his boss with a confused look on his face. "And why do _I _have to visit Iceland? I hardly know the guy, da? In fact, I don't think I've ever talked to him before, ever…"

Putin smiled.

"Then it's time for you to start talking to him now," he said. "After all, this year marks the 70th anniversary of formal diplomatic ties between our nations."

Ivan looked dumbfounded. He hadn't been aware of any diplomatic ties between himself and Iceland. In fact, the small island never crossed his mind at all.

"Me and Iceland have an anniversary?" he asked. For some reason, he felt like a bad husband who had forgotten to bring his lover a present on their wedding anniversary… "Do you want me to give him a present or something?

Putin laughed.

"That's not a bad idea. You can bring him some nicely wrapped present that represents Russian culture. But you'll have to get it quick, you're flying to Reykjavík the day after tomorrow…"

The day after tomorrow?

"But that's so soon!" Ivan proclaimed.

Putin pretended not to have heard him.

"Iceland has already been informed about your visit – he will pick you up when you land in his country and escort you to his home," the president said, deliberately ignoring Ivan's bursts of protests. "Your mission, of course, is to befriend Iceland and to erase all suspicions he might have towards our nation." At that, Putin sent his nation a stern look. "You hear me? It is very important that you earn Iceland's trust. Without it, future co-operation might be at risk."

"But I've never befriended anyone before!" Ivan said. "This is an entirely new type of mission for me…"

Putin stood up from his chair and walked over to Ivan. Placing his hand in a friendly manner on the shoulder of his nation, the president smiled reassuringly.

"I'm sure you will do just fine," he said. "Just try to be friendly, da? And show some interest in Iceland's culture. He'll appreciate that."

Ivan slumped back in his chair. There was no arguing with his boss, he knew that.

"I'll try my best," he said, pouting like an unhappy child.

Putin patted his shoulder.

"Good," he said. "And bring me back a souvenir… Something to do with the Icelandic painter Jóhannes S. Kjarval, preferably. An art-book or something."

Ivan nodded, and the president shook his hand, signalling the end of their meeting. When Putin had left his home, Ivan folded his arms and burrowed his face in his scarf.

The week at Iceland's place was going to be uncomfortable, insanely awkward and just plain horrible - he was sure of it. And to top it all off, Ivan would now have to scrounge the tourist shops of Moscow for a suitable gift for the Icelander, who's taste Ivan knew nothing about – not to mention how much Ivan hated wrapping gifts. He would have to get his sister to do it for him…

Oh god, Katyusha would have an absolute fit when she found out Ivan was about to embark on a friend-making mission. And Natalia… She was going to explode with jealousy.

Ivan immediately hated his life. And as always when he started hating his life, he took to the bottle.

"I hope they have vodka in Iceland," he muttered. He would have to check that – if not, he would have to bring the necessary supplies with him. _A lot_ of them.

* * *

_**Author's comments:**__ So, that's the prologue. Hope you guys liked it! Here is a link to where I found the article quoted in this chapter, just remove the two spaces: _

nl .newsbank. nl-search/we/Archives?p_product=NewsLibrary&p_multi=BBAB&d_place=BBAB&p_theme=newslibrary2&p_action=search&p_maxdocs=200&p_topdoc=1&p_text_direct-0=0F978350240AD391&p_field_direct-0=document_id&p_perpage=10&p_sort=YMD_date:D&s_trackval=GooglePM

_You saw what I did there? (Hint: The name of this story is a quote from that article!)_

_The information in Putin's speech can be found here (remove 2 spaces): _

www .icenews. is/2011/09/23/president-of-iceland-in-russia-meets-with-putin/

_Him mentioning Johannes Kjarval at the end of his conversation with Ivan is also from that article. Apparently, Putin is quite knowledgeable about Icelandic painters... How weird is that?  
_

**Also, explanations: **

^ J ^ - There really is nothing to explain now... So we'll just introduce ourselves, da? I'm Ivan Braginsky, the Russian Federation.

ㅎ_ㅎ – I'm Emil Steilsson, also known as Iceland. Even though I wasn't even in this chapter...

^ J ^ / ㅎ_ㅎ – We're looking forward to meeting you guys again in the next chapter! Be sure to leave a comment, even though its just to talk about the weather or ramble about how awesome we are!

^ J ^ - If you don't, you'll be meeting Mr. Pipe... Da? *creepily innocent smile*

ㅎ_ㅎ - ... *is quietly creeped out*


	2. A Tour-Guide's Honour

_**Story:**__ On the Rise and Developing Rapidly_

_**Author:**__ ShrapnelGirl_

_**Exclaimer:**__ All Hetalia characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya._

_**Author's comments:**__ Here's the first chapter of On the Rise (yes, I won't always mention the whole name of this fic when talking about it, that name is just too long!). This fic will have multiple points of view and will probably have more than ten chapters… Oh, and expect some crazy Icelandic nationalism, some friendly bonding between nations and just about every cliché you have ever heard about Iceland._

_I love reviews! They are my main writing-motivation, so please review if you enjoy this story… :Þ_

* * *

_Chapter 1 – A Tour-Guide's Honour – Reykjavík, June 2013_

"I have a _very_ important guest arriving in a couple of days, and I need you and your team to help me organize the world's most epictour around Iceland."

Margrét Þorsteinsdóttir, owner and main tour guide of a small, private travel agency in down-town Reykjavík, was so startled that she dropped the pen she had been playing around with. When she hurriedly tried to pick it up, she accidentally kicked her desk and cried out in pain, causing Emil to regret how suddenly he had made his request.

"_You_ need _my_ help to organize a tour?" she gasped in disbelief. "Around Iceland? A country no one knows as well as you?"

Emil smiled at Margrét's words. He wasn´t surprised at her astonishment. After all, she was one of the few humans who knew his secret: That he was the human personification of the Icelandic nation – and that his most favourite hobby was guiding tourists around his country. He was quite good at it… Actually, he was the absolute best tour guide of the entire country. If Margrét had not been shocked at him asking her for help, Emil would have worried about her.

"As I said, this is a _very_ important guest," Emil said. "And I _really_ want to make a good impression. We are talking about an exceptionally jaded traveller who has been all over the world and who has experienced adventures we could only imagine. He's not visiting the country out of his own interest, but because he has to, and as far as I know, he probably favours his own country and customs over anything he might encounter here..."

Margrét took off her shoe while she listened to Emil and rubbed her sore toes. She looked exhausted from over-work: she had deep wrinkles around her eyes and mouth and her hair was already turning gray although she was only a little over forty.

"Sounds like a very tricky customer indeed," she said. "Is he like you?"

Emil nodded.

"He's Ivan Braginsky, the personification of Russia."

Margrét whistled.

"That's a big country," she said. "And I'm guessing it's important to make an impression on him?"

"It's crucial," Emil said. He stood up from his chair and put a hand on Margrét's shoulder to further emphasize his words. "Crucial enough to call for a meeting at the Tour-Guide's Secret Society." Margrét stopped rubbing her toes and looked at Emil, mouth open in shock. She didn't seem to be able to find her words. Iceland patted her shoulder. "Yes," he answered her unasked question. "I want every tour-guide in the country on this, as well as every college student, shop keeper, farmer… I'm calling in all favours I have with everyone in the country."

Margrét gulped.

"You mean…"

Emil nodded. A sly smile spread across his lips.

"I want the entire Icelandic nation to be a part of my plan," he said. "We will bring out every crazy Icelandic stereotype there exists in the world, every legend, every tradition anyone has ever gawked at and blow them out tenfold. Ivan Braginsky will land in a country so crazy, that even the most jaded tourist is bound to get culture shock…"

"…and he'll love the country so much that we'll be able to completely wrap him around our fingers?" Margrét finished. Emil nodded.

"This is a matter not only of national interest," he said, "but of guarding our honour as Icelandic Tour-Guides."

That did her in. Of course, Margrét had much pride in her field of work.

Margrét put on her shoe and stood up. She grabbed Emil's hands and squeezed them. "I swear on my Tour-Guide's honour that I will do anything in my power to make this tour the greatest one in the history of Icelandic tourism!" she exclaimed. The tiredness was gone from her face, in its stead was a wide smile and an excited glint in her eyes. Margrét looked ten years younger than she had when Emil had entered her agency.

Emil smirked. _This tour will be my masterpiece,_ he thought. _Ivan Braginsky won't know what hit him…_

* * *

Ivan clutched the gift he had bought for Emil when his plane landed on Icelandic soil. It had been a long travel, cooped up in small airplanes – for a man with Ivan's size, it was pure hell. Thankfully he hadn't had to hurry much during transitions, and when he boarded the last plane in London, Ivan was greeted with warm smiles and offered a newspaper in English to pass the time. That newspaper only had news and articles about Iceland in it. It was then Ivan had realized that he was flying with an Icelandic airline.

Not that this knowledge would have escaped him for long. On a screen in front of him, advertisements of Icelandic products, reports on Icelandic culture, little titbits of Icelandic history and seemingly random pictures of Icelandic nature shuffled by, all making fair promises of a 'once in a lifetime experience' once Ivan finally reached his destination. The headrest of the seat in front of him had some Icelandic vocabulary on it – so did the napkins, the blankets and the pillows on board this airplane…

When the passengers beside him, two rowdy teenage girls, saw Ivan studying his napkin and muttering the Icelandic word for thank you, they immediately started teaching him other ways to say the same. The girls were really into their lessons, and probably bored out of their minds as well, so Ivan had no choice but to smile his innocent little smile and repeat the words 'Þakka þér fyrir', 'Takk kærlega' and 'Þúsund þakkir' to their satisfaction.

"How do you like Iceland?" one of the girls asked when Ivan was finally fluent in Icelandic thanking words.

"I haven't been there yet," Ivan answered, amused by the question. It seemed to mean a lot to these girls, knowing if Ivan liked their country or not. The girls seemed disappointed – but they didn't sulk for long.

"You'll definitely like it," the second girl said.

"Everyone does," the first one chirped in.

They then went on to describe all the funny and amazing things they loved about their home country. Ivan smiled and nodded the whole trip – when the plain finally landed, his neck felt stiff and sore from all the nodding and agreeing with the girls. They kept on chattering all the way to baggage claim, only saying goodbye to Ivan when they had gotten their bags and he hadn't.

"If you stop by Akureyri during your trip, don't hesitate to come see us," one of the girls said.

"It's a little town in northern Iceland," the other one said. "We both work at the Akureyri swimming pool – you can't miss us."

"Takk," Ivan said. He was touched by their offer, even though he had no idea if he would ever see that town of theirs or not. Ivan waved to the girls as they disappeared from the baggage claim room. As soon as they were out of sight, his smile dimmed and he lowered his arm, sighing deeply.

_They didn't even ask me where I was from…_ That disappointed Ivan. He would have loved telling them a bit of his own country, even teaching them a word or two of Russian in return for their Icelandic lessons. _Well then, no reason to be sour,_ he thought. After all, his boss had warned him that Emil's nation was extremely proud of itself. If Ivan hadn't believed it at the time… Well, he did so now.

It was strange. That _Emil _boy didn't look like the insanely nationalistic type. At the world meetings he was very quiet and usually clung to the other Nordics like a shy maiden. Ivan had never thought much of the boy. He seemed too timid to be interesting. But now… That boy might well be something else entirely than Ivan had thought.

_This will be interesting,_ Ivan thought to himself as he heaved his bag off of the baggage carousel. All the dread he had felt towards his trip was gone from his mind. _I wonder if Emil will be as talkative as his people…_

* * *

Emil sneezed loudly at the waiting area just outside customs. 'Guð hjálpi þér' someone said. Emil thanked them even though he hadn't noticed who it was. It could have been anyone of the people waiting with him, and they were many. For a while, Emil worried about Ivan finding him in the crowd. Maybe he should have brought a sign with him with Ivan's name on it – or even a Russian flag…

His worries were needless. Emil spotted the tall Russian immediately – Ivan literally towered over the crowd. Emil raised himself to his toes and waved until he caught Ivan's attention.

Their greetings were standard and somewhat awkward. When they reached Emil's car, a humongous off-road jeep, Ivan handed him a nicely wrapped gift.

"What's that for?" Emil asked, surprised.

Ivan shrugged.

"For inviting me here," he said. "Takk fyrir."

Emil smiled at the Icelandic – it seemed that Ivan was willing to make more effort than Emil had given him credit for at the Tour-Guide's Secret Society.

"Ekkert að þakka," Emil replied. "Og takk fyrir sömuleiðis." He immediately tore the gift-wrapping apart, revealing a box with something written on it in Russian and a picture of a flower on it.

"It's Russian tea," Ivan said. "Chamomile."

"Right…" Emil said. That was unexpected. If something, he would have expected Ivan to give him a bottle of vodka…

"You might not know this," Ivan said. "But my country is known for its tea-drinking culture, and chamomile is the national flower. This is a Russian-made tea. It's very good."

"Thank you," Emil said. "I'm happy to receive it. We can drink it together."

"Sure," Ivan said.

Emil started the car.

"So," he said, looking at his esteemed guest. "Ready to start your week-long exploration of Iceland?"

Ivan's childish smile grew wider.

"Da!" he said.

Emil nodded, satisfied. When he was sure Ivan wasn't looking, he allowed himself to smirk maliciously.

_He's as unsuspecting as a little kid,_ Emil thought. _Too bad I'm not as nice as everyone thinks I am. Ivan Braginsky, prepare for the wildest journey of your life…_

* * *

_**Author's comments:**__ There were no articles used in this chapter, but both the knowledge of Russia's national flower being chamomile and about the excessive tea-drinking in Russia stem from this amazing site (remove 2 spaces): _

gorussia. about. com

_All information about Iceland either stems from my own experience or from other sources (that I will cite just like information on Russia). I won't be translating any Icelandic or Russian used in this story, unless you guys get mad at me and demand translations. If you are curious to know what the characters are saying, just use Google Translate… ;)_

_**Also, explanations: **_

^ J ^ - A chamomile tea was a good idea, da? I thought very hard on it.

ㅎ_ㅎ - It's nice…

^ J ^ - I'm excited to start this travel… At first I was negative and thought this was a bad idea, but now I can't wait to see how this will turn out…

ㅎUㅎ – You have no idea…

^ J ^ - What?

ㅎ_ㅎ – Nothing…

^ J ^ /ㅎ_ㅎ – See you next chapter folks!


	3. Secret in the Cellar

_**Story:**__ On the Rise and Developing Rapidly_

_**Author:**__ ShrapnelGirl_

_**Exclaimer:**__ All Hetalia characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya._

_**Author's comments:**__ Here's the second chapter of On the Rise! Sorry for not putting much historical info in here, I'm focusing more on the characters at the start of the story. Also, y'all might notice how I focus on Icelandic customs and history in this story? It's because I plan to research more into Russian culture over the next year (I will be having Russian lessons. I'm so excited to start!) and was thinking about maybe making a sequel to this story where it's Ivan showing Emil around his place. That story would focus a lot more on Russia… So, what do you guys think? Would you like to see a reversed version of this story? And would it justify me sticking pretty much with what I know in this one? I'd still be researching a lot about Russia to make Ivan's reactions as plausible as possible though…_

_About this chapter: Oh Emil, you have the appearance of a 16 year old boy, what are you doing with something like _that_ in your cellar? And how could you even dream that Ivan wouldn't find it immediately?_

* * *

_Chapter 2 – Secret in the Cellar – Reykjavík, June 2013 – Day 1_

"Here we are," Emil said as he parked the truck outside a two-store house, bright blue with a red roof and white windowsills. An Icelandic flag fluttered in the summer breeze over the red painted door and from the small garden around the house Ivan could smell the sweet aroma of flowers: He recognized lupins and mountain avens and buttercups, even dandelions. They seemed to grow freely without any attention from Emil at all.

Ivan stared. He had seen nations living in some pretty strange houses, but a life-size doll house in a nation's national colours? A snide comment on how girly and strange that house was almost left Ivan's tongue, but then he remembered the orders of his boss. He was supposed to befriend Emil, not make fun of him. And who wanted to be friends with someone that spoke ill of your home?

"You have a beautiful home," Ivan said as they left the car, his innocent smile plastered across his face as usual. "Very… photogenic."

Emil smiled brightly.

"Thank you. This is the oldest house in Reykjavík. Notice the wavy metal plates that cover it? This is a traditional corrugated iron building, they can be found everywhere in Iceland. The design is originally Norwegian, but we had to add the iron because painted wood couldn't withstand the weather here."

Ivan hummed.

"Interesting," he said. "The weather is bad here?"

"The wind can be a bit harsh," Emil said. "And the weather is quick to change. We have a saying in this country: If you don't like the weather, wait a minute and it will have already changed."

Ivan looked into the sky above. It was bright blue – not a cloud in sight.

"It looks like there will be good weather today," he said.

Emil shook his head.

"It might start raining later today," he said. "Or even snow. And the wind might always pick up."

Ivan looked deeper into the sky, trying to discern any signs of rain or a storm. There were none. The weather forecast he read on the plane also predicted pretty good weather for the next week, with temperatures ranging from 11°C up to 21°C. Ivan did not believe it would rain today. Perhaps tonight or tomorrow, but definitely not in the next few hours.

He did not voice his opinion though. Arguing with your host was rude – and so Ivan steered the conversation back to more comfortable subjects.

"Your house looks almost new," he said, opting for praise. "It is clearly well taken care of."

The Icelander beside him practically beamed.

"It's recently renovated." Emil stated. "I did it myself."

He sounded proud. Ivan could see why. His home looked like it had been put together by a professional.

"I did not know you renovated houses," Ivan said, genuine curiosity in his voice.

"I do everything myself," Emil answered. He started walking towards the house. He probably thought his guest had admired his handiwork long enough. "I hate relying on others for help."

Ivan nodded.

"I understand that very well," he said, remembering all his years of solitude. "I don't like to rely on others either."

Emil seemed to like that statement. Ivan mentally congratulated himself on finding something he and the boy had in common. He had not expected to find anything, to be honest. He ducked when Emil warned him that the door was uncommonly low – not that Ivan needed the warning, due to his height he was used to ducking under doors – and was welcomed into the young nation's home.

Contrary to Ivan's expectations, Emil's home wasn't as doll-like on the inside as it had looked from the outside. The walls and floors and ceiling were planked with wood, Norwegian pine according to the Icelander. The furniture looked old and worn, but treated with care.

"Denmark and his government officials imported this stuff before I gained independence," Emil said. "Most of it is from the 19th century, some is newer. I also have a collection of things from the middle ages and the Viking era on the loft, and a renovation station in the cellar…"

Ivan spotted the door to the cellar immediately - after all, Emil was pointing at it - and headed down there. Not because he was interested in some renovation station, but because his keen nose smelled alcohol all the way up to ground floor from there and Ivan wanted to check out the source.

Of course he ignored the end to Emil's sentence.

"…but you're not allowed to go there… Ivan? Where are you…? Árans!"

Quick footsteps followed Ivan down the stairs, but the Russian was quicker. He fumbled around until he found the light-switch. The cellar illuminated. Ivan whistled.

"A little naughty, are we, Islandiya?" Ivan teased. "Are you even old enough for this? Is this legal in your country?"

"I told you not to go down here," Emil growled. Ivan spotted flushed cheeks before the boy hit the light-switch, darkening the room so that neither of them could see. "Forget you saw anything."

Ivan hummed, but said nothing more. He stood perfectly still in the silence and the dark, staring at Emil. He was sure the teen could feel it. After a few minutes Emil started shuffling awkwardly on his feet. He switched the light back on.

"Alright. You can see," he said. "But don't tell anyone. I'm serious."

Ivan nodded. His smile grew wider. _That's one more victory to my all powerful stare_, he thought and bounced excitedly into the room.

If there was one thing Ivan liked, it was home-made alcohol. And Emil's cellar was a home brewery of the finest sort – at first glance it seemed to rival even the facility Ivan had in his own home. Brewing and distilling equipment covered the entire room except for one small corner reserved for renovating and repainting furniture.

"What kind of alcohol do you make here?" Ivan asked as he studied fermenters, kegs, distillers and other equipment required to do the deed.

"Beer and spirits mostly," Emil said. He ran a finger over one of the funnels lovingly. "Brennivín, gambri and landi, sometimes wine. It's for personal consumption, so I don't make much."

Ivan chuckled softly into his scarf.

"Naturally," he said. "That's why you need a whole cellar…"

Emil shrugged.

"Mr. Puffin is an alcoholic," he said, with not a hint of sarcasm. "Not to mention the other Nordics. If I want to keep everyone satisfied I have to keep busy."

Ivan moved closer to a shelf full of glass bottles that caught his eye. They were full of liquid, some was clear, others ranging from light brown to bright red. Ivan grabbed a bottle and turned it in his hands.

"It looks nice," he commented. "But why not just buy it from the store?"

"Old habits die hard, I guess," Emil said. "I had to brew my own stuff during the Beer-Ban. Also, alcohol tax in Iceland is among the highest in Europe, so buying in in the store would bankrupt me very quickly."

"That sounds horrible!" Ivan exclaimed. He genuinely meant it. With alcohol tax rising almost every month in Russia, such a situation had been on his mind a lot lately. "How much is the tax if you could go bankrupt?"

"For strong liquor, like vodka, the tax is 80% of the price."

"80%?" Ivan did not like that. After he had found out that he could buy vodka in Iceland, real Russian vodka, he had decided not to bring more than a bottle with him – for the journey, you see. And now he found out that buying vodka in Iceland was too expensive for his budget. "This is terrible," he said.

Emil nodded.

"I know," he said. "You have to be rich to be an alcoholic in Iceland. That's why I and my people always drink a lot in foreign countries – it's cheaper. England and Denmark are popular places for weekend binging."

"I see," Ivan said. He was hardly listening. His mind was on the bottle of vodka he had in his pocket – it was half empty and would definitely not last him the whole trip.

"Is something wrong?" Emil asked. Ivan turned to see purple eyes staring at him worriedly. He had never noticed that the silver haired kid had the same eye-colour as him. Apparently the two had more in common than Ivan had ever imagined.

As if Emil was able to read Ivan's thoughts, he walked over to a chest that stood by the stairs, opened it and took out a bottle with a clear liquid in it.

"Here," he said, throwing the bottle to Ivan. Reacting quickly, Ivan caught it with one hand, clutching the bottle he had been examining in the other. "Try that. It's a new recipe I've been trying out. It's not quite perfect yet…" Emil blushed and looked to the side. "This is the newest distillation."

Ivan put the old bottle away where he found it and turned the new one in his hands. It felt like a litre bottle. Curious, he screwed the tap off and smelt the liquid inside: The smell was very familiar. Could it be... Vodka? Ivan put the bottle to his lips and took a sip. Feeling the familiar burn moving down his throat, he was sure: It was vodka.

Ivan let out a satisfied chuckle.

"You have no idea how happy this makes me," he said. "I was starting to worry that all vodka in this land came with an 80% tax tag."

Seeing his satisfaction, Emil seemed relieved. His worried look returned almost immediately though.

"Does it taste alright?" he asked. "I mean, I know there is not much to taste when it comes to vodka but… Is it like what you drink at home? Do you like it?"

Ivan chuckled again. This was the first time someone came to him for advice on how to make good alcohol. It was surprising really, seeing as he was quite the expert. Even Katyusha preferred to make her own brands of everything to asking her brother for advice. This seemed to mean so much to the Icelander as well. How could Ivan deny the young alcoholic his expert mentoring?

"It's okay, but not quite like what I drink at home," Ivan said. Having been almost constantly drunk for the last 600 years, or since vodka was invented, he could discern the faint nuances of taste in the otherwise monotonous beverage. "Get your ingredients. I'll give you my very own secret recipe – but you better keep it secret."

Ivan bared his teeth to show the teenager he was serious about that last bit. Emil snapped to attention, immediately running off to fetch the ingredients from the kitchen after shouting: "Yes sir! I won't tell anyone!"

* * *

_**Author's comments:**__ So, our two favourite Arctics (that's totally a word) are getting on quite well at the start of this story, but I wonder if they'll be so chummy when Emil's plan comes into motio? I hope they don't get too drunk between chapters… The next destination will be a whole lot funnier if Ivan is at least partially sober XD._

_Emil's home is a typical Icelandic house you can see all over the country. The design is Norwegian in origin but instead of the outer walls being painted wood, the whole structure is covered with CGI (corrugated galvanised iron). This is due to the extreme weather in Iceland – a wooden house would quickly get gnawed away by the icy wind. _

_Icelandic houses are also typically painted in bright colours to lift the spirits of the locals: Due to the long winters, the almost non-existent summers and the usually bleak weather, Icelanders are prone to depression. Here's a link if you want to see how those houses look like: _commons. wikimedia wiki/Category:Corrugated_iron_buildings_in_Iceland 

_Beer was banned in Iceland from 1915 to March 1, 1989 – more than 70 years! This period is called Bannár in Icelandic (or vínbannið). Unfortunately all the good links I found on it are in Icelandic only._

_I love reviews! They are my main writing-motivation, so please review if you enjoy this story!_

_**Also, explanations: **_

^ J ^ - *Humming and singing quite happily*

ㅎ_ㅎ – Wow, Ívan. You sure like making alcohol.

^ J ^ - Of course! It's my favourite activity! And this is the first time I get to teach someone how to do it like I do.

ㅎ_ㅎ – I'm flattered. But is it necessary to drink so much of the product afterwards? I won't have anything left to compare my future distillations to.

^ J ^ - *Ignores Emil and continues drinking*

ㅎ_ㅎ – Ívan? ÍÍÍVAN? *Sighs* He's completely in his own world. I guess, I'll have to say the goodbyes alone this time. Thank you for reading and see you next chapter folks!


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